Something Like That
by Cattiechaos
Summary: Okay, the new Russian exchange student is hot, but does he have to be such an ass about Americans?


"_Mmm, _lookin' good, Miss Héderváry!"

Grinning devilishly, Gilbert gave the Biology teacher a lazy wink as he strolled by, mock-saluting her. Alfred barely had enough time to snag his best friend by the collar and drag him away just as a fiercely scowling Miss Héderváry swatted at him with her neon clipboard, which must have missed abusing Gilbert over the summer holidays. Gilbert hitting on Miss Héderváry, Miss Héderváry (literally) hitting back – _that's _how everyone knew that school was back in session.

"That's about the hundredth time I've saved your ass from that woman," Alfred groaned good-naturedly, shoving Gilbert against the lockers (and terrifying a few freshmen in the process). "Would you take a hint, man?"

"Tch, she only pretends to resist the awesome me," Gilbert scoffed, strutting for the benefit of several freshmen with hiked up skirts and too much eye make-up. "I tell ya, Alfred, God bless these Catholic school-girl uniforms."

"God save your sorry soul, more like it," Alfred snorted, wrestling Gilbert into a headlock, too busy goofing around to mind where he was going, and that was how he smashed – "Ow!" – straight into someone.

"Ow!" Alfred exclaimed, releasing Gilbert and stumbling a few steps back. "Sorry man," he said apologetically. "I didn't see you there – oh."

It was a mystery how Alfred hadn't seen the other boy standing there, especially since he was easily a head taller than Alfred. He was broad across the shoulders, too, and his build automatically made Alfred think he would make a perfect fullback. Hey, as quarterback and captain of the football team, he was always scouting for potential recruits. When he finally finished assessing the guy's build, his eyes finally traveled up to the guy's face, and _oh, sweet God._

His skin reminded Alfred of pale hazelnut cream – white with just the barest hint of beige to add color to the mixture. He was wearing a scarf, which was strange for mid-August, but Alfred was too busy ogling the other boy to really care about the scarf. He was clearly foreign, with a strangely childlike face and sharply angled cheekbones, a face that somehow managed to be both delicate and unmistakably masculine. His eyes, Alfred noticed, were the strangest shade of purple.

"It is quite all right," the boy said, and his words abruptly startled Alfred out of his reverie. He had a surprisingly pleasant and light voice – he had been expecting something deeper and more menacing. "Do you happen to know where room 301 is?"

"Er, down the hall, to the left," Alfred replied, shaking himself. He looked to his left for any sign of Gilbert, but his friend had mysteriously disappeared – most likely he had seen Katya in the hallway, and gotten distracted. (Alfred couldn't blame him.)

"Thank you," the boy said politely, and he was about to sidestep Alfred when Alfred suddenly remembered about football. "Hey, wait!" he blurted. "What's your name?"

"Ivan Braginsky," he replied, curiosity flickering in his strangely-colored eyes, and he tilted his head thoughtfully. There was definitely a trace of a foreign accent in the lilting tones of his voice, and the surname rang a bell, although Alfred couldn't figure out why. Unintentionally, he imagined Ivan whispering his name in that sultry accent, turning Alfred's average-Joe name into one of exotic intrigue… "And who are you?" Ivan prompted.

"Jones. Alfred Jones," he replied, breaking out of his daze flashing Ivan one of his trademark thousand-watt grins. Hey, it couldn't hurt – the guy was seriously good-looking, even though his nose was a tad too big to be considered traditionally attractive. "I was just wondering because the football team's looking for a new fullback – Matthias graduated last year. Interested?" _Dear God/Santa/Stephen Colbert, if he says yes I promise I'll never ask for another thing again. Except maybe for dinner and a movie…_

Ivan wrinkled his nose. "American football?" he repeated dubiously. "I have never played it before. Is it fun?"

"Oh, it's fun, I promise," Alfred said eagerly, almost tripping over his words. _And not just because I'd get to see you in tights, nope. _"Besides, if you join the team, you'd get to hang out with me. I mean, I'm the captain. Yeah," he finished lamely. Man, he was off his game. A guy tended to lose his edge after staying in a relationship for so long, especially with a guy as unromantic as Arthur Kirkland. Well, to hell with that – a new school year meant a fresh start.

"Oh? And you think that I would want to hang out with you?" Ivan replied, but there was a sort of amused glimmer in his eyes. "You _did _just walk straight into me, after all – not a very polite welcome to the country."

"I know, and the sad thing is, I'm on the welcoming committee too," Alfred said sheepishly, ruffling a hand through his hair like he always did when he was embarrassed. "Student Council President. By the way, are you related to a girl named Katya?"

"Yes," Ivan replied, surprise flickering in his violet eyes. "Why do you ask?"

_Oh, no reason, it's just that I've checked out your sister about half a million times and she should really invest in looser clothes – _

"Nothing," Alfred replied innocently. "Just curious. So, football?" he added hopefully, his expression very much akin to that of a puppy dog's.

Ivan looked unconvinced. "I'm not sure…I came here so that I could spend more time with my sisters. I would not want them to feel left out if I were to join some after school activity."

And just like that, a light bulb dinged to life above Alfred's head. "Dude, Katya would make the best cheerleader!" he realized, not knowing how he hadn't made that connection before. "She'd be awesome! Then she could cheer at our games and you could spend more time together." Finally, Alfred's mind pieced together Ivan's accent – he was clearly Russian, especially if he was related to Katya. Well, _damn_, they clearly had some good genes. He wondered if Katya having big breasts meant that Ivan had a big – er, perhaps that thought was better left unfinished.

"It seems as if you already have this planned out," Ivan stated, amusement lacing his voice. "I should hate to disappoint you, then. What exactly is it that a fullback does?"

"Uh, well, I'm the quarterback, meaning that I'm the guy throwing the ball that everyone wants to kill. The fullback is basically the one that tries to keep me alive for as long as possible and keep the maiming to a minimum. Seriously, we don't like maiming in America. By the way, did you know that I only realized you were Russian a few moments ago?"

The corners of Ivan's mouth twitched in what could have been the beginning of a smile. "You could not tell from my name? Braginsky. It is just like you Americans to be completely oblivious like that," he chided.

_What?_

"Hey, don't rag on us Americans," Alfred retorted defensively, crossing his arms as he leaned against the locker next to Ivan's.

"I was doing no such thing," Ivan replied innocently, widening his eyes. "It is not 'ragging' if it is the truth, yes?"

_Oh no he di-in't._

"Take that back!" Alfred cried, all illusions of romance flushed down the drain. "We're not oblivious!"

"Oh?" Ivan queried, clearly enjoying himself at the sight of Alfred's expense. "Then what is the capital of Azerbaijan?"

Oh, crap; why hadn't he paid more attention in Mr. Karpusi's geography class? Why was _that _the class where he sat in the back and had mock sword fights with rulers?

Alfred frowned. "Fine. I don't know the capital of Azerbai-whatever-the-hell-you-said, but good luck making friends if you're going to walk around thinking you're better than everyone else," he declared, turning on his heel for a dramatic exit.

"Wait!" Ivan called, reaching out and grabbing Alfred's wrist. "I apologize – I was only joking; I did not know you were so sensitive. Can we still be friends?"

"Hngh," Alfred grunted, still put-out by the slights to his country, and acutely aware of Ivan's cold, slender fingers around his wrist. "Maybe. You sure you're not a Russian spy?"

"_Now _whose the one stereotyping?" Ivan chided.

"Fine," Alfred laughed, extending his hand. "Truce?"

"_Da_," Ivan replied, clasping Alfred's hand in his own. He was startled by how warm it was – soft, too. Everything about the boy seemed to radiate warmth.

"This, my friends, is a historic moment," Alfred declared dramatically, mimicking a newscaster from the 1990s. "Soviet and America, peace at last!"

"I'm afraid Kennedy and Gorbachev beat you to that over twenty years ago," Ivan interjected mildly.

"Not listening!" Alfred cried, clamping his hands over his ears. "Did you _have _to ruin the moment?"

"Yes," Ivan replied simply, beaming. "Ah, I believe we are 'bantering'; does that mean we are friends?"

"Something like that," Alfred retorted wryly. "This is going to be a sick, twisted relationship, I can already tell."

"In that case, I look forward to it."

"Strangely…so do I."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Notes:<em>

_This was written for the "2011 Back to School Event" on the Russia/America LJ community.  
><em>

_Comments and reviews greatly appreciated! Constructive criticism would be even better.  
><em>


End file.
